


Calm.

by RubyFiamma



Series: Alter End. [2]
Category: Gangsta. (Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood and Injury, Established Relationship, M/M, Parting Ways, Sad Goodbyes, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 12:10:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4478768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyFiamma/pseuds/RubyFiamma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Delico makes his first decision as a free man, and he knows it’ll be the hardest decision he’ll ever have to make.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calm.

**Author's Note:**

> For [Audrey](http://benriya-desu.tumblr.com)

**Calm.**

* * *

 

Delico doesn't know how long he's been on the roof, though he's aware of the peaking red crest of the morning sun rising above the skyline of Ergastulum. It should be warm but the wind is cold, biting against his skin like winter frost. At some point he knows people have come to check on him, he still has the blanket Heather draped over his shoulders but at some point she fell asleep and Galahad carried her inside. He remembers them coming to ask him questions he doesn't offer answers for and not long after that he was left alone.

It's what they should do, to stay away from him because he's dangerous and no good, and the people only end up getting hurt. It's not _safe_ for anyone to be near him, especially if all it takes is one simple command like he's a domesticated _animal_ to hurt someone he loves.

"Delico?"

The voice is so soft that it's barely audible but it's undeniably recognisable. When he shifts an inch and turns, possibly the most he's moved in several hours, he sees Worick standing behind him with blood on the cuffs of his rolled up sleeves and the charred smudge of insomnia under his eye. But Delico isn't looking at that, he's following the way Worick's lips sink into a frown and the way that his eye gleams wet with a sheen that Delico can only assume is bad news. He's been expecting it all this time, and therefore is prepared. Yang was his best friend, and he shouldn't have died at Delico's hand but logic serves to produce short life expectancies in their line of work. This is the natural order of things, the natural order of Delico's world.

"Yes?" comes the invitation for an answer he's not ready to receive yet, but he's calm and has come to be at peace with what a life without Yang -- without _anyone_ offers. Worick's hands wring together, and Delico knows the man's never been fond of being the bearer of bad news. Delico moves forward a step towards the other, but he's unsure that he wants to move in this direction, it doesn't feel quite right. He's almost sure he'd rather the familiar solidity of the roof's ledge. He halts then, shoves his hands into his pockets to hide that they're shaking uncontrollably from Worick, though he's likely already caught on.

"Yang... He's out of surgery and... it looks like he's going to be okay."

The words don't register at first, Delico hears them just fine and they seep into his brain like they make sense but there's a lack of connection that Delico doesn't seem to get. "W-what?"

Worick's lips shift into a smile, something a little more soft and familiar, something Delico's used to seeing on the handyman's face. "Theo's got him sedated now, if you want to see him."

"Oh," says Delico, shifting his weight but his feet remain cemented to the roof. But with the orange glow of the sun dawning over his shoulders and bathing Worick in some sort of divine radiance, Delico feels the first visceral break and fissure rip through his chest, and then comes the second and the third and suddenly he can't breathe. He doesn't realise he's falling until his knees hit the hard concrete of the roof, but the pain isn't anything in comparison to the aching crush in his chest, like his rib cage is caving in on itself and Delico's clutching at his blood-soaked shirt, clawing at his throat in hopes to catch a breath.

Worick rushes to his side, and Delico wants to say he's fine but he can't put a voice to words. There's this oppressive feeling, like he's being weighted down by immobilising fear, dragged further and further down to the darkest depths of the ocean, compressing and crushing.

He isn't sure when or how he ends up inside, but Worick's hands are tightening around his biceps and he keeps yelling but the sound doesn't permeate Delico's invisible bubble. Delico's eyes frantically search the room for Yang -- for proof -- but all he sees is the _mess_ of the room. He's still gasping for air, like there's a steel pipe lodged in his throat but he can hear his own laboured breath heavy in his ears in tandem with the throbbing pulse in his temples.

"Hold him still," he hears Theo say and Worick's hands are on him but all Delico can focus on is all the blood spent, soaked into rags and towels and gleaming over surgical tools. He doesn't see Yang, and maybe he heard Worick wrong, maybe they've hidden the body away, maybe Delico's the one who's delusional he's not sure of anything right now.

Theo has a syringe, Worick's holding one of his arms out and Delico feels like the room is spinning but then everything comes to a skidding halt when the flurry of motion causes the white curtain behind the doctor to flutter and that's when Delico sees him.

His gold skin is ashen, and the mask obscures Delico's view of the soft of the other's lips but it's him and the sound of the machine mimicking his heartbeat is like cooling calm trickling into his veins. Delico suddenly takes a breath, it comes as a gasping sob that wracks his entire body. He stumbles forward a step, and Worick sets him free to stagger to the makeshift privacy curtain.

"Guess I won't be needing this," Theo comments and Delico hears the click of the syringe hitting whatever surface the doctor set it on.

"What was it?"

"Tenormin."

"Ah."

Their voices become background noise as Delico's hand reaches for the curtain, unable to control the quiver that makes the motion slow and clumsy. But his pulse is slowing and his vision is clearing, and Delico can suddenly breathe easy, even if the breaths he takes are short and shallow.

He's past the curtain now, blocked by the white wall of privacy and he's given the freedom to finally reach out a trembling hand, touch his fingers to the short brush of Yang's hair. He watches the rise and fall of Yang's chest for a minute or two, he's not sure how long. It's lulling, almost tranquil to hear Yang's whispering breath against the oxygen mask.

Yang's skin looks unearthly pale next to the blinding-white of the sheet placed over him, blends in with the off-white of the bandages stretched across the shoulder peaking out from the sheet. But he's okay, he survived and he's going to wake up and Delico will get to see that smile again, the one that causes a swelling pressure ballooning and pushing against his ribs.

But then Delico starts thinking, starts thinking that Yang is going to wake up and know that Delico shot him. Delico was the one that put five bullets in his back when he tried to defend his sister's honor and protect _him_ all at the same time. Yang isn't going to smile again, at least not around him. There's no way that he can aceept, can _forgive_ his best friend -- his _lover_ \-- for nearly killing him. Yang will never understand. He told Monroe he'd be able to kill Erica. And that's his blood, she's his sister. There isn't any way to explain that Delico didn't do this on purpose, that the only murderous intent he felt that day was aimed at then men who betrayed him, and not at the man he loves. But... all Twilights are sick and monstrous. All they know is how to kill. It's in their genetics, it's what their cursed blood is made of and Yang will forever be looking over his shoulder wondering how long he has until the next round of bullets is sprayed into his back by a man that's supposed to love him.

There's a lump, jagged and tearing at the walls of his throat and Delico can't breathe again but this time it isn't the same. It's relief, but it's also certainty. Delico knows what he has to do now, it's probably the easiest yet hardest decision he's had to make -- and when he thinks about it, it's the only decision of this magnitude he's ever had to make on his own. It feels strange being free.

Delico leans forward, presses a kiss to Yang's clammy-cool forehead and he wants to taste the familiar spice of the other's skin but all that's there is the stale antiseptic astringent that clings to the air in Theo's clinic and the salty tang of blood. It doesn't matter, though, Delico will always have the memories ingrained into his senses and he won't allow himself to forget.

"Goodbye, Yang," Delico whispers against the other's skin and he wants to touch his mouth to Yang's lips once more but he doesn't risk pulling off the oxygen mask. Instead he kisses the space between, where Yang's velvet-curtained lashes sweep across his cheeks, closes his eyes and etches the way Yang's hair feels against soft against his palm.

It's a minute and then he straightens, moments like these can't last forever. He doesn't bother to wipe off the wet against his cheeks or stop himself from clearing his throat in an attempt to choke down the lump that's making it difficult to breathe. He steps around the curtain, and the men stop their conversation and Delico can feel the heat of their questioning stares crawling under his skin.

They say nothing, and neither does he, but he steps towards the exit of the clinic and halts at the door way before turning back. He hasn't changed his mind, and Yang is safe as long as he stays in the company of these people.

"Benriya-san," Delico chokes out, and his voice sounds strange echoing in his ears. "Please... Please look after Heather for me."

Worick's head cocks to the side, his lips are pressed pale against each other. He won't ask questions, he's smart enough to understand. He nods then and Delico turns back towards the door.

"Where will you go?" Worick asks as Delico reaches for the door knob. He pauses, fingertips setting against the cool metal. He tries to think about it, but even his eyebrows pinch together pensively as he comes up blank.

So, "I don't know," is what he says, because in the end, he really doesn't.


End file.
